Switched
by shelbae
Summary: The Flock is living with Dr. M and Ella, about ready to go to school. But, alas, clothes are needed. So Max and Fang are going to the mall with Dr. M when BOOM. A red Porsche, one head bang and a hospital trip later, they're in the wrong bodies.
1. The Beginning

**I'M BACK, BITCHES! Did you miss me? Yeah, yeah. I know – WHERE THE FUCK HAVE YOUY BEEN? I WAS 'BOUT READY TO FILE A MISSING PERSONS REPORT! But I'm back now, and that's what matters.**

**For every update, I'll be doing a fact of the day. It has nothing to do with the story, but I just love facts. **

**Fact of the day: Dripping water on a restrained person's forehead will drive them crazy.**

**I think the best way to do this story would be to just jump right in.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own shit.**

Car accidents are never a good thing. Sure, maybe for the guy suing the bimbo doing her makeup behind the wheel of a brand new, hooker-red Porsche, but that doesn't happen all the time.

And neither does two people switching bodies. But I'm getting ahead of myself.

Max, Dr. M, and I were in the family van on the way to the mall. We had left Iggy and Ella in charge of the youngins'.

Yes – I watched too many southern movies on Netflix, but that's all they seemed to suggest for Valencia Martinez. Plus, they're a wee bit addictive.

Anyway, Max and I were in the backseat, playing ERS – an addicting and painful card game; at least when playing with Max.

"Those were totally my cards!" Max yelled in my face.

"Was not!" I yelled back. "My hand's under yours!"

"Is not," she said, glaring fiercely at me.

"Is too," I said, glaring right back at her.

"Children, children," Dr. M said, and I could hear the eye roll in her voice. "Split up the cards."

Max scowled but did as told.

I stuck my tongue out at her.

She returned the childish action and we started playing cards again.

We were going to the mall for school clothes. Yeah, school, despite all of Max's ranting and raving about how we were practically committing suicide. Suicide by Mesa High School, to be exact. Ain't that name original?

Dr. M was taking only us two because it's better if everyone went separately. Since the last time we all decided to take a trip to the mall, we ended up with a clown passed out in our bathtub and a fridge full of Chinese food, it was a mutual agreement that is was for the greater good. Plus, keeping control of three teen transgenic organisms, one teenager, and three not yet teen transgenic organisms is not as easy as it may seem.

Nudge, Angel, and Gazzy went first, since they were the youngest. Then Ella and Igs went, being the lovebirds they don't realize they are. And, finally, Max and me. This must be very complicated to you uneducated folk.

And that's when it happened.

Dr. M slammed on the brakes, but not fast enough to keep from ramming into the front of a bright red Porsche. Not fast enough to keep from my and Max's heads from conking into each other. From then on, it all went black.

* * *

><p>"Oh, she's awake!" a pretty voice said. "Sweetie, can you hear me?"<p>

"Wah?" I slurred, my eyes opening to terribly bright lights. My eyes stung and I squeezed them shut again.

"Oh, Max!" Dr. M's voice cried and a warm hand touched my shoulder. "I'm so happy you're okay!"

I opened my eyes to slits and peered up at Dr. M's dark eyes.

"Wah?" I said again, like a babbling idiot.

Dr. M looked at something or someone I couldn't see. "Is this going to be permanent?"

"No, ma'am," the pretty voice said again. "She's probably still in shock from the accident."

Why in the fuck was everyone calling me a she? Did the mysterious accident I have no memory have castrate me or something?

"Max, Fang's going to be alright. He's still unconscious and has a big black bruise on his forehead, but he'll be fine," Dr. M said.

"Dr. M?" I croaked, opening my eyes fully. "Where are we?"

My voice sounded funny, almost girly. High pitched.

"We're in a hospital," she said, smoothing down my hair affectionately. "During the accident, you and Fang bumped heads pretty hard and passed out. The paramedics brought you here." Dr. M lowered her voice. "I've threatened anyone and everyone who has any inkling of the wings. Only two people." She bit the inside of her lip and looked worriedly down at me. "Max, honey, are you alright?"

"Why do you keep calling me Max?" I asked and sat up, about three pillows behind my back.

Dr. M looked at the nurse and then at me. "Well, that's your name."

"No," I said, scanning the room. There was a young nurse with long blond hair and pretty blue eyes. Her bangs covered her left eye.

I was eerily reminded of the nurse from _Kill Bill_.

"My name's-," I started, but then I saw out of the corner of my eye extremely dark hair flipping in front of tan skin.

In the bed next to me, my body was sitting up, leaning against three pillows. But I was looking at my body, and thinking this.

Yes, confusing. I am aware.

My dark eyes looked over at me, squinting. "Wah happened?" a deep voice asked, and then coughed. A very manly cough, if I do say so myself.

"Oh, Fang, you're awake," Dr. M said.

The eyes I was looking through locked onto the black almost dark brown eyes I was accustomed to seeing through.

So, what would you do in this situation? Most rational people would take a deep breath, convince themselves they were still unconscious, and go crazy.

But the flock has never been rational.

So, we do what we do best, other than fighting, eating, and sleeping and possibly snoring – we screamed bloody murder.

The nurse, who I'm calling Elle from now on, didn't know what to do. "Please, calm down! Please!"

It was no good. Trying to calm people usually ends up in more screaming.

Ah, but the powers of a mother.

Dr. M wolf whistled, having my body and I whip our heads around to face her. "That's enough," she said, glaring at my body and the one I was currently inhabiting. "You two are perfectly fine and can come home now. Now calm down and get dressed."

I nodded. My body did also.

The nurse pulled a curtain between the two beds so we could get dressed. Dr. M handed me some new clothes, and walked out into the hall. I shed the paper hospital gown and was surprised with what I was greeted with.

"Why the hell do I have tits?" I asked myself, ever so loudly. My voice was that of a teenage girl. Max's voice.

I had Max's voice. I had boobs. There was curly blond hair at my shoulders. When I licked my bottom teeth, there was a small chip in one of them. I could see the sexy body I usually inhabited through someone else's eyes.

It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure it out – only a brain sergeant. Max and I had switched bodies, and each of us had a nasty bruise on our forehead to prove it.

Well, if I can trust Dr. M and her eyesight.

Max and I finished dressing and stepped from behind the curtain.

"OK," she/he said. "Please, tell me I'm dreaming."

I walked over to her and pinched her arm.

"Ow!" Max said and slapped my hand, harder than usual.

"I guess not," I said and ran a hand through my hair. It was curly and knotted. "Ugh, have you ever heard of a comb?"

"And have you ever heard of deodorant?" she snapped back. "It's worse than dog breath."

I opened my mouth to reply, but snapped it shut when I had nothing to say back.

My face had a satisfied look and Max yelled out to the hall, "Okay, mom, we're ready!"

I looked at my face, and my eyes stared into my dark ones. "So how are we going to explain this, exactly?"

She shrugged. Well, technically, he. But the brain was very much female. "Just wing it, I guess."

I'm pretty sure the pun _was_ intended.

* * *

><p>Gazzy<p>

It was the weirdest thing I'd ever seen in my entire life.

Sure, that one time when I walked in on Iggy dancing to 'I'm sexy and I know it' in front of the bedroom mirror in a speedo was a close second, but this was just out there.

Fang was sitting on the loveseat next to Max. His legs were crossed at the knees and his arms crossed over his chest. His long bangs were pulled back with a bright pink headband. Max had her elbows on her knees and her head in her hands. Her legs were about the same distance apart as her elbows, and her feet were a little farther apart than her legs.

It was like Max and Fang had switched poses or something.

"OK, so let me get this straight," Ella said slowly, running a hand through her hair. "Mom, you got in a car accident, Max and Fang bumped heads and they woke up in a hospital, in the wrong bodies."

Dr. M nodded. "Yes."

"And we should probably get them back to their normal selves before school on Monday," Ella concluded, and Dr. M nodded.

"And if we don't, we won't be going to school on Monday, right?" Fang asked excitedly.

Yet again, the weirdest thing I've ever seen or heard.

Dr. M scowled at him. "No. You'll still be going to school, even if you and Fang are still in each other's bodies."

Max and Fang groaned simultaneously.

"Whyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy?" Fang exclaimed loudly, getting a tortured look on his face.

"Yep, that's Max," Iggy said, grinning. "Now, I think I can get used to this. We don't have to switch them back."

"Yes, we do," Fang said, looking at Iggy like he was out of it.

There was silence as everyone pondered what he or she was supposed to do with the whole situation.

"Maybe you should just conk your heads together again," Nudge said with a shrug. "That is what got you into this."

Shortest thing I've ever heard from Nudge in my entire life. Seriously, I've heard her utter more when I was waking her up in the morning. At five-thirty.

Fo shizzle.

"Maybe," Angel said, tucking a piece of her hair behind her ear. "Or it could just cause more damage."

Iggy snorted. "How is that possible? Cause more damage to Fang? You've lost me."

Max got up and slapped his arm, but Iggy only grinned.

"You don't hurt me anymore," he teased, sticking his tongue out at Max.

"Is that right?" she asked, and grabbed his tongue with her fingers.

"Ow, Math, lef me guh!" Iggy screamed.

"I could . . .," she said slowly, smiling sadistically. "Or I could make you blind _and_ mute."

"Max," Dr. M warned, glaring.

"Fang," Max corrected, letting go of Iggy's tongue and sitting down next to Fang again.

"As long as you're in each other's bodies, I will call you by that name," Dr. M said sternly. "Now, Max, you're going to stay in the guys' room, and Fang, you'll stay in the girls' room."

Fang and Max nodded.

"We'll go shopping tomorrow. Now go move your things," Dr. M concluded, sighing. "And stay upstairs for a few hours . . . or a few years."

She muttered the last part, but I still caught it.

* * *

><p>Fang<p>

"So, what's it like?" Iggy asked, flopping down onto his rumpled bed. He picked up a baseball and threw it up in the air, catching it again.

"What's what like?" I asked, setting my box of bras, female clothes, and other "necessities" down by the foot of my bed. Like facial cleaner is a necessity. Pff.

"To have boobs," Gazzy said and sat at the end of Iggy's bed. "Duh."

"I dunno," I said, looking down at them. "I haven't had 'em for a while."

"Well, try them out!" Iggy said, the look on his face way too excited.

I shrugged. "Alright."

I then started groping myself. "Wow. They're really squishy."

"Lemme try," Iggy said, pushing himself off the bed and walking over to me.

"Alright," I said, grabbed his hands, and put them on my new boobs.

"Ooh," he said, mouth forming the perfect 'o' shape. "What is this? D-cup?"

"C, I think," I said, looking down at the twins. "Yeah, definitely C."

"Damn," Iggy said. "I could've sworn-"

And just then Max walks in, in my body. How she stayed so quiet, I may never know.

First there was a gasp. Then she looked from me to Iggy, who was asking, "Why is everybody so quiet?"

Then she got a murderous look on her face and yelled in my deep voice, "MOM! Iggy is groping me!"

And so went my day.

**Alrighty all, that was chapter one of Switched, until I can come up with a better name. Because, honestly, this title really sucks.**

**I give all of my consideration to one person:**

**Brighthalk, who went over my story for me and vice versa. **

**I know the first chapter isn't very funny, but still. Bear with me.**

**To all those who are confused, Max's body is staying in the boys' room and Fang's is staying in the girls'.**

**The more you review, the faster I update. Teehee.**

**- Sanity**


	2. Ella, the Gang Leader

**Fact of the day: A two-thousand-year-old organism was found near the site of the BP oil spill. Ain't dat amazing?**

**Hellllllllo, my faithful readers who survived past chapter one. Keep on readin'.**

**If you're confused, I put the persons' POV as the one thinking, not the body they are in.**

**Disclaimer: Is this thing even necessary? I don't own any stores or Maximum Ride.**

* * *

><p>Max<p>

It wasn't consensual, I swear. She forced herself upon Fang and me. It kind of went like this:

"Max, Fang, I've decided you can't dress yourselves without embarrassing me in some way. So I'm going to do it for you."

And so we didn't embarrass her any further, she was going to choose the clothes we bought, too. Armed with one hundred dollars in cash, two hundred dollars on a debit card, a half-way used Victoria's Secret gift card, and a push up bra, Ella was ready to tackle the mall. She had a battle plan, too.

This girl should work for the U.S. government.

I was a little scared of her, even with Fang's strength. It was hard to remember that this was the same girl that, just three days ago, cried over the death of a bunny rabbit.

"OK, first we hit up Forever 21. Then we go to Victoria's Secret for you, Max. After we go there we splurge a bit on American Cookie Company – I know a guy. Then we can take care of American Eagle and such. Finally, we end it all with an attack on Pac Sun," she says, a hint of determination in her sweet voice and a determined look on her face. "Then I'll convince Mom to stop by some thrift stores on our way back."

She sounded like a gang leader . . . I liked it.

To say the least, Forever 21 was a replicated, more fashion-aware version of Hell. Ella dragged Fang and me through the entire store, piling many articles of clothing into our arms.

"I think I'm going to collapse," I groaned when we finally got close to the dressing rooms.

"You poor thing," Fang said sarcastically. Sarcasm sounds really good on my voice . . . "I think Ella's going to make me try on heels. And a dress. She might just be trying to kill me."

We said all of this in a whisper, in fear of how Ella might react if she heard us. Remember how I said she was like a gang leader earlier? Change that to mob. A gun mob. With drugs. And Cuban cigars. And some illegal vodka from Russia.

"Okay, Max, you first," Ella said and I stepped forward. She sighed. "The other Max."

So Fang followed Ella into a dressing room, where she left him/her to change.

"Oh, hail to da no," my voice said from the other side of the door. "There's no way I'm wearing this in public."

"Come on out, Max," Ella squealed gleefully. "Let us see."

My body stepped out from behind the flower-printed wallpaper dressing room door, wearing a low cut military green shirt with a floral print winking face. I hate to admit it . . . but it's sort of kind of cute in a bleh-I-don't-like-clothes-shopping way.

"Oh, yes," Ella said. "You just need a better bra."

I glared at her. "My bras are fine."

"Yeah, if you're lounging around the house," she replied. "Not if you're going to be associated with me."

She said 'me' in an arrogant way.

Bi-itch.

But she kind of had a point, not that I would actually admit that aloud. Ella was popular, or so she had convinced the Flock, and had a reputation to uphold.

I sighed, exasperated. "Fine – I put my body," I said, grasping my thin shoulders that Fang has control over and moving them towards Ella, "in your hands."

Ella smiled like an empress who'd just conquered the final village. "Good. Now go try on the rest of the clothes, Max."

"Wait," Fang said. "Hold the phone. Who exactly decides what I wear on a daily basis?"

Ella and I shared a look, the kind of look that brought confusion over boy's brains, and said in unison, "We do."

"So, do I get to decide what you wear, Max?" Fang asked, trying to use my big brown eyes against me.

I just smiled and Ella said, "No way."

"So," Fang said slowly, "you decide what I wear and what my body wears?"

"Pretty much," Ella said, shrugging.

Fang sighed. "I better get a damn good cookie for this."

Very cliché-like, Ella and I high fived.

"Okay. This is a very good cookie," Fang said around a chocolate chip cookie.

"Great cookie," I corrected.

"Great cookie," Ella concluded for us.

Ella ended up having fifty dollars on her Victoria's Secret gift card. This meant we left with two push-up bras, which we had to give Fang a lesson on what is does. Can somebody say awkward?

"Well," Ella started. "It squeezes them," she demonstrates with imaginary boobs, "together, to give the illusion of more cleavage. And then pushes them up," she demonstrates again, "with very thick padding."

"So it pretty much shows what you don't have," Fang concluded, scratching his chin, which was really my chin. It was a very nice chin, if I may say so myself.

"Yes," I said, and ruffled his hair. "Look at you, thinking all smart-like!"

He shot me a nasty look and said, "Shut up."

"Shut don't go up," I said and stuck my tongue out at him.

"You want to keep that tongue?"

I slowly drew my tongue back into my mouth. He had won this round.

"Ho-ome," I moaned, throwing myself facedown onto Mom's couch. It was a nice couch; really comfortable and could fit the entire flock, plus three dogs. "I'm never leaving this couch. Ever. Again."

I stretched myself out until I covered more than half the couch (which was an easy feat when you're about six feet tall), and probably looked very similar to a starfish. Every hormone in this male body was screaming things like, "DOMINANCE! CONTROL! ALPHA MALE!" The itty-bitty portion of my brain that was still female was saying, "Oh, brother."

"You are such a drama queen," Ella said. "Maybe even more than Iggy. Did I tell you about the time-?"

"King," Fang corrected. "Drama king, thank you very much.

I grumbled something even I couldn't determine. It sounded like, "Guh blefgh fugh. Dufgh!"

"Yes, ma'am," Ella said and slapped my butt.

"Bufgh."

"We're home!" Mom called when she finally got into the house.

"Did you embarrass Max who's really Fang greatly?" Iggy asked.

"Yes," Ella said at the same time Fang said, "No."

"I can die happy now."

* * *

><p><strong>Well, at least you learned what a push-up bra does. :{ 0<strong>

**Sorry it's so short. I thought it would be longer . . .**

**Review! I demand it! Faster you review, the faster I update!**

**- Sanity**


	3. Dooms Day

**Waddup homies. Sorry it took so long to update. **

**Fact of the day: "Kesha" means horny in the native language of Aruba.**

**Disclaimer: No matter how hard I try, Maximum Ride will most likely never be mine. I don't own Norrie May-Welby, either, though that would be awesome.**

* * *

><p>Max<p>

"Aha! So it's ali-ive!" Iggy exclaimed on the morning of Dooms Day when I walked into the kitchen, doing the thriller stance. You know the one – leg up, arms up an fingers sharp at the joints. How he knows it is beyond me.

I glared at him, flipped him off, and flopped down on a swivel barstool that matched the kitchen island. I was already not having a good day, even though it was about six forty in the morning. I was tired, the first day of school was flippin' today, and my stomach was slowly digesting itself from hunger.

Iggy calmly sipped out of his bright pink coffee mug with 'Drama Queen' in a fancy script and asked to whoever was listening, "Is she flipping me off yet?"

"Yes," Angel said around a strawberry. She, Iggy, Gazzy, and Nudge seemed to be the only ones dressed and actually excited to go to school. Traitors.

"Mission accomplished," Iggy exclaimed, doing that weird thing where your elbow goes down and your knee goes up. Again, how he knows the move, I've got no clue.

Mom chuckled from her perch on the stool at the end of the kitchen island, clutching her sunshine-yellow coffee mug for dear life. She was still in her pajamas, she had no makeup on, her hair had almost completely fallen out of its braid, and looked like she could fall asleep standing up. "Alright, alright. Max, go get ready for school."

"But I haven't even eaten breakfast yet," I said, and my stomach growled, just to prove my point. I snagged some of Iggy's eggs and stuffed them in my mouth.

"Hey, what are you doing with my eggs, you shim?" Iggy asked loudly, pointing dramatically at me.

I think he's been lying to us this whole time, and he can actually see perfectly fine. "You should try out for the drama club," I said, nodding approvingly. "They'd be lucky to have you. And 'shim'?"

"Why thank you," he said, smoothing his hair back and making Angel and Gazzy giggle. "I was hoping for that effect. And, yes, shim! A combination of the words 'she' and 'him', that describes transvestites, hermaphrodites, Norrie May-Welby, and you and Max."

"Fang and I have a category all to ourselves?" I asked, finishing off his small amount of eggs. "I feel the love, bro-man."

"You should," he said, looking proud.

"Oh, and by the way," I said and hopped off the stool. "I ate all of your eggs."

He gasped dramatically, slapping his hand down on the counter. "You son of a _bitch_!"

"Iggy!" Mom snapped. "Language!"

I snickered and ran out of the kitchen, up the stairs, and straight to the bathroom. Only to be met in the head by a roll of fluffy toilet paper.

"Geddout!" my voice screeched. "I'm not wearing any clothes!"

"God, Max, there's nothing you've got that he hasn't seen before," Ella said, and I could hear the eye roll in her voice.

My voice huffed and I slowly lifted my arms away from my head. "Is the war zone clear?" I asked jokingly.

"Ha ha, very funny," Fang said sarcastically, shooting me a nasty look.

"I was just about to go get you," Ella said, ignoring Fang. "I've got your outfits picked out already, all you need to do is put them on."

"You know," I said as Ella handed me clothing, "the entire point of high school is to find yourself, not have your sister do it."

Always the lady, Ella, snorted loudly. "You've obviously either been watching too much T.V. or reading too many of those sappy teenage books I read when I was, like, six."

How could she _possibly_ know that?

Ella handed clothes Fang and pushed us oh-so-gently out of the bathroom. "Now," she said, blowing up so her bangs lifted for just a second, "I have a miracle to work – it's called my hair."

Then she slammed the door shut, I heard the lock click, and imagined there was the banging of a hammer, like in the Saturday morning cartoons when they nailed all the plywood over the door to shut someone out of the room. Fang and I turned to look at each other for about one second – it was so weird to be looking down at myself – and then went our separate ways.

After I got dressed, I surveyed myself in the mirror. I hated to admit it, but Ella had style. She'd picked out some slightly-skinny-but-not-really jeans, a button up plaid shirt with rolled up sleeves, and converse. And to top it off, she put a flat-bill hat with it. Kick ass.

I love my sister.

* * *

><p>Fang<p>

I was sitting by myself in the lunch room, trying to decide if I should risk eating the radioactive lump currently disintegrating the plastic lunch plate when my savior came.

"You don't want to eat that," she said in a scratchy voice. "Starving to death would be quicker and less painful."

I looked up. She had white-blond hair streaked with lime green and black pulled into a braid. There was a yellow ball stud with a smiley face in her left nostril. She wore a red shirt that said 'talk nerdy to me'; jeans shorts, and silver Converse with ratty laces. She had a book bag with a number of pins, key chains, and keys attached to it.

"The name's Elizabeth," she said, holding out her hand, which had fuchsia fingernails. "But you can call me Elizabeth."

"Nice to meet you . . . Elizabeth, is it?" I asked sarcastically, reaching to shake her hand.

She pulled it away. "Psyche!" she said, doing an odd little dance. "I'm a code 'A' germaphobe. I don't touch public doors or people's hands that have . . . or the cafeteria food."

"Is it that bad?" I asked, picking up a clump of the mystery-not-even-meat with my fork. I flipped the fork over and the clump didn't budge. Well, that can't be good.

"No," she said, adjusting the strap of her book sack. "It's worse. But, luckily, I know a guy."

"Does this guy of yours happen to have any narcotics?" I asked. "I could use some right 'bout now."

"Sadly, that's a negative," Elizabeth said, sighing. "But I know a lot of people – maybe we'll get lucky."

I think for a second and then say, "Well, the sound of food that won't rot out my tongue is quite appealing . . ."

I stood up from the table and walked to the trashcan to throw my uneaten lunch away.

"Good," Elizabeth said, smiling. We walked to the glass doors and she pointed at the handle. Her fingernail was a banana yellow color. "Now open the door for me, wench."

I rolled my eyes but opened the door anyway. I followed close behind Elizabeth as she walked from the cafeteria, out from under the metal pavilion, and into the dry, brown grass.

"I never did get your name," she said, kicking the dead grass.

"Max," I answered. "Where are we going?"

She didn't answer my question. "Max. That short for anything?"

"Nope," I said, shrugging. "Just Max."

"Huh," she said, stopping for just a second, and almost making me bump into her. Then she shrugged and started walking again. "'Cuz your file said it was short for Maxine."

I looked at her and raised an eyebrow. "You read my file? I thought those were classified."

She snorted. "Please."

We continued to walk across the school grounds.

"So, how exactly did you read my file?" I asked.

"That is classified information," she said like a computer. "Access DENIED."

I rolled my eyes. We reached the chain-link fence of the end of school property, where a shady guy in overalls, a red shirt, and a red baseball hat. He also had a moustache and an abnormally large nose. Let's call him Mario.

"You got the stuff?" Elizabeth asked Mario.

If all else failed, she could always be a drug dealer.

"You got my stuff?" Mario asked in, I'm sorry, what can only be described as an Italian accent. Or a Jersey Shore voice.

Elizabeth nodded, shoved her book sack into my arms, and took out a paper bag. She threw it over the fence at Mario, who caught it, looked inside, and threw his paper bag over the fence.

"Bye, Mario," she said when he began to walk away.

He grunted and threw up a hand that looked suspiciously like he was flipping her off.

I turned to Elizabeth and glared at her. "You lied to me."

She got a look on her face, the one I had seen Gazzy use a million times on Nudge. Her mouth was partly open, her left cheek was twitching, and her left eye looked like it had frozen mid-wink. It said, plain and simple, "What the _fuck_ are you talking about?"

I answered to her silent question, "You said you didn't know anyone with drugs! You totally just gave him some mushrooms."

She killed herself laughing, tears coming out of her eyes. When she finally calmed down, she took two Big Macs out of the paper bag Mario had given her, handed one to me, and sat down in the brown grass. I sat down next to her, stretching out my legs and crossing them at the ankles. I had to admit, Max had some great legs. This has nothing to do with anything, but Ella did a great job dressing me this morning – black and dark red striped shorts, a dark gray/light black shirt with a slumping skeleton figure that started at the base of the spine, and black converse. If I was a chick – which I guess I am – I would totally wear it.

"I'm just going out on a wing here," I said, unwrapping my Big Mac, "but I'm guessing his real name isn't Mario."

"Nah," Elizabeth said, tearing into her Big Mac like she hadn't eaten for days. "It's Luigi."

* * *

><p><strong>Again, thanks Brighthalk! You going over this and editing it means a lot to me.<strong>

**Reviews are loved and appreciated.**

**- Sanity**


	4. Iggy, the Player

**Readers, I am disappointed. Only three reviews? You should be ashamed.**

**Fact of the day: Norrie May-Welby is legally recognized as genderless.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own jack.**

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><p>Max<p>

Okay. Let's get on thing straight: I've only been a guy for about two and a half days. So I haven't had a lot of other-than-the-Flock male interaction yet.

I wish I could go back to that.

Boys are animals, plain and simple. They're loud, ravenous, crude, rude, and just plain disgusting.

Don't believe me? Near the end of lunch, they all piled their mystery-not-so-meat onto one plate, mashed it together, and poured milk and water all over it. I almost barfed. I think some bile did rise up – just a little bit.

And now I was one of them.

Bleghf.

And don't even get me started on when we had to change for P.E. OH MY GOD.

OH. MY. GOD. O-H M-Y G-O-D. I'm scarred for life.

So I was happy as a freakin' camper when the final bell rang at three p.m., Mrs.

Norris let the animals loose from their cages, and I was swept into a sea of sweaty, hormonal, teenage bodies. Yay.

I had to fight off three basketball players, a lesbian couple (I feel strangely relatable now . . .), and something that looked suspiciously like a crowd-surfing rat, but I finally made it to my dark-green, paint- chipped locker.

This school is a dump, I thought, shoving my ratty books into their place.

"Hello, Maximum," Fang said, leaning up against the locker next to mine.

I glared at him. "Ugh."

He looked up at me, my/his eyes looking offended. He asked, "What did I do?"

"Nothing," I said, closing the locker door and locking it. "It's the rest of your gender that's disgusts me."

My face looked relieved. "You're one of us now, baby," he said, grinning in a cheesy manner.

"And you're a chick now," I pointed out; just to keep him humble.

"Don't remind me . . ."

I smiled, rolled my eyes, and turned down the hallway towards the bus loop. "Oh my God."

"What?" Fang asked, looking at me.

"That," I said and pointed down the hallway.

* * *

><p>Iggy<p>

As it turns out, I am quite the ladies' man.

Don't get me wrong, being blind does give me some sympathy flirts, but I'm quite the smooth-talker. Without that ability, the ladies wouldn't keep coming.

"C'mon, girls, I can carry my own things," I said, putting my hands up and chuckling. "I'm not completely handicapped."

"But we want to! Hee hee!" the unmistakable high voice of Olivia Vangotten said.

"Yeah!" Marie Tinsle said, and she giggled cutely.

"Let's do it one more time!" Cloe Elizabeth Marie Sarah Stevenson said. "Just one more time, plee-ease?"

I "sighed", "exasperated". But then smiled at the girls I couldn't even see. "Oh, alright."

I lifted up my hand and hot skin was pressed against it on every side.

"Now, now, one at a time."

The girls giggled and pulled back until only one person's face was in my hand. It was a tan color, smooth of acne, but a little dry, like they spent a little too much time in the sun.

I smiled. "Cassandra."

The girls squealed and giggled.

Told you – they go goo-goo-ga-ga over my magic fingers and me. Teehee.

Except that one that seems to hate me. She never really seems to be affected my charms.

"I'd be careful, girls," Fang in Max's body said. "He's HIV positive."

_That son of a bitch._

"Don't worry about him," I told all the girls when I didn't hear the screams or footsteps running away. "He's just jealous of all the attention. Can I have my things, girls?"

After a chorus of sighs, six phone numbers slipped into my hand, and one particularly rash kiss on the cheek, all of my things – book bag, notebook, and three worksheets – were given back to me.

"I'm not going to say anything," Fang said. "Except that we probably missed our bus."

We did.

Then we had to walk home, which took ten minutes by bus, so it would take a hell of a lot longer by foot. And it doesn't help that is was at least one-hundred- and-two degrees, and my book bag weighed thirty pounds.

"Why don't we just call Dr. M?" I asked, dragging my feet.

"Because she's working," Fang said in a 'duh' voice. "And it's not that far a walk, you big whiny baby."

I groaned loudly and pulled on my hair.

We walked for a few minutes. Then we passed the diner. It smelt like grease, sweat, and burnt skin, but there was an under-smelling of hotdogs, cheese sticks, and chocolate-malts. A bell ringed and a door opened, and laughing voices slithered through the door.

I moaned. "C'mon, let's get something to eat! I'm starving!"

"Chill out," Max said. "We're ten minutes away from the house, where we can good food that won't give us food poisoning – absolutely free!"

Damn that shim and his/her logic.

So I closed my mouth, did my best not to smell for a minute, and followed their footsteps. That is, until I smelled burnt rubber and gas exhaust right next to me.

"Hey, Iggy!" a sweet voice exclaimed. "Need a ride?"

"Halle!" I said, almost falling onto my knees. "I'd love a ride."

"C'mon, get in the back with us!" Michelle's voice said.

So I hopped in before Max or Fang could object. Come on, be honest: What would you do?

* * *

><p>Max<p>

"I can't believe that bastard just left us here!" I yelled, throwing my hands up, outraged. "How many times had I saved his ass from getting beat up by you?" I asked Fang, thrusting my hands and shoulders forward towards him. "Hundreds!

How many times did I sacrifice things, like the last Twinkie for a freakin' month, for him? Considerably less, but still!"

"I know," Fang said calmly, blinking at me.

"The nerve of him!" I continued. "After all we've done for the cocky bastard, he just leaves us here?"

"I know."

"Oh, when I get home, I'm gonna . . ."

"Max," Fang said, marching up to me – as I had unknowingly stalked about six feet ahead of him – and grasping my shoulders roughly. "Max. You can't do anything when we get there."

"And why not?" I asked, shrugging his hands off and crossing my arms.

"It will drive him nuts," Fang said, a mischievous gleam in my eyes and twisted grin on my lips. "Act like nothing happened. We walked home with no interruptions. He'll get so paranoid he'll stop sleeping. Max, it's the ultimate prank!"

It took, oh, five seconds before I realized how genius it was. Iggy knew Fang and I didn't just forgive and forget, just like that. We held long, pointless grudges. Some lasted weeks. Others would probably continue into the afterlife.

It took about three seconds for me to realize that a borderline psychotic inhabited my body.

Instead of checking him into a mental facility (because with my luck, we'd switch back to our original bodies), I said, "That's . . . genius."

"Why thank you," he said, grinning.

"But sort of crazy," I admitted, hoping he wouldn't kill me in my sleep.

"Aw, shucks. You flatter me."

"Hey, guys. Sorry we're late," I said when I walked into the living room. "We missed the bus.

Five pairs of eyes turned to look at me for two seconds, and then returned to the television set. The dogs were nowhere to be seen.

"Don't you have homework?" I asked.

"We'll do it later, Max," Nudge said. "_Glee's_ on."

Did she really just dismiss me for a TV show? "Nudge," I said sweetly, "you were the one who wanted to go to school so bad. And if we're going to do it, we're not going to do it half-ass! Get to work – you can watch TV when you're done."

Three pairs of eyes glared at me as the owners shuffled out of the room, one pair rolled and stayed exactly where they were, and one looked up at me in fear from the couch.

"What?" I snapped at Iggy.

"N-nothing," he stuttered.

"Thought so," I snapped. "Now go do your homework."

He scrambled out of the room.

I turned to Ella and raised an eyebrow. "Did you not hear a word I just said?"

She gave me a look and flipped through channels on the TV. "Bitch please."

* * *

><p><strong>Yellow. Just here to remind you that I, despite common belief, do accept reviews. They're actually very much appreciated. Just a friendly reminder.<strong>

**P.S: Check out my beta – Brighthalk.**

**P.S.S: I really like the 'Mr. Brightside' by the Killers. It's cool.**


	5. Enter the Romantic Connections

**Hola! Sorry it took me so long to update. I've been working on a five-page essay. That my English teacher assigned. In the last two weeks of school. Can someone say **_**evil? **_**Also, I've had exams and such. Really am sorry.**

**Fact of the day: The word 'swagger' dates back to Shakespeare's time! **

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything, at all! I swear! I'm not claiming to do so. And I don't own **_**People**_**, either. **

* * *

><p>My inner clock was saying it was around five-thirty in the morning. I was lying on my back, which was really quite uncomfortable; since I had wings and all, and my eyes were open. I smelled smoke.<p>

I threw the sheets off of me, sprung up from the bed, and yelled at the top of my lungs, "FIIIIIIIIIRRRRREEEE!"

I ran out of the room, down the stairs, and to the front door, which I unlocked and threw myself out of like the house was about to blow up. I lay on the dew-damp grass for about thirty seconds and then realized: Gazzy is the heaviest sleeper _ever_. So I ran back into the house, up the stairs, into the boys' room, and threw Gazzy over my shoulder. I then commenced to run out of the house, yet again.

"Oh my God, Iggy, what the hell?" Max's angry voice asked when I was again on the grass.

"What?" I asked as Gazzy giggled.

"Again!" he told me, pounding his fists on my back. "Let's go again!"

"There is no fire!" Angel said, sounding as exasperated as a six – ahem, _seven_ – year old can.

"What?" I asked again. "But I smelled smoke!"

"That was me," Nudge said quietly. "I was trying to straighten my hair."

There was silence for a minute. Then Dr. M said, "I'm going back to bed."

There was mumbles of agreement as everyone shuffled back into the house.

"Oh, and Iggy," Fang's voice said with a snicker.

"Yeah?" I asked, disheartened.

"Nice PJs," shim said, and the door closed.

I touched my pajama pants and realized that I was wearing the ducky onesie. I did a face-palm with the arm that wasn't holding Gazzy.

"Uh, Igs?" Gazzy said hesitantly. "I know this might not be the best time, but . . ."

I sighed. "Yes, we can go again."

Gazzy whooped as I ran back into the house.

* * *

><p>Ella<p>

"Good God, Nudge, what the hell were you thinking?" I asked Nudge, surveying exactly how much damage she had done to her gorgeous corkscrew curls.

It was a more appropriate time. I had already dressed Max, Fang and myself (thank God Angel had a sense of style, or Iggy would be screwed), stuffed a piece of toast in my mouth, and was now trying to fix Nudges "little" problem.

When she didn't answer, I continued my rant. "Exactly! You weren't thinking!" I turned to Fang. "This is beyond my expertise. We need a higher power."

"God?" Nudge asked skeptically, raising her eyebrows.

"No – someone more powerful," I said dramatically. "A hairdresser."

Fang snorted. "We don't have time for that," he said. "Any last resorts?"

"Well," I said and sighed, "our very last resort would be to shave her head and say she's becoming a monk."

Nudge shrieked, "What?"

"Why don't we just wash it?" Fang asked.

I paused. That would actually work. But I don't like to be proven wrong, and to give into Fang's idea would be admitting that shim was, in fact, correct. And that just wasn't happening. So I threw him a

'You naïve child' look – which I was actually very good at – and said, "That won't work. I'll be back." Then I walked out of the bathroom, to my shared bedroom, and pulled out a green fabric box from under my bed. I walked back to the bathroom with the box, where Nudge was staring at her hair and pouting.

"Yeah, that's right," I said, pursing my lips and nodding. "Be ashamed. Now sit."

Nudge hopped onto the bathroom vanity, crossed-legged. She was facing the mirror so I could work some sort of miracle on her hair. I rummaged through the box (an assortment of clips, pins, and other hair accessories) until I found what I was looking for – a peach-pink colored knit beanie that I could shove all of Nudge's hair under and have it look sort-of decent.

"I'm sorry," she said quietly, wringing her hands.

I sighed and gathered all of her hair in my hands. "It's alright, Nudge. I just don't understand why you would try to straighten your hair."

"Well . . ." she said. "All of the other girls in my grade have straight hair and it's really pretty and I'm the only girl with curly hair and even the black girls have straight hair and it's so unfair so I thought maybe I could straighten it and-"

"Nudge," I interrupted. "Do you know how much some people pay to have hair like yours?"

"No," Nudge said thoughtfully. "I never thought of that. But-"

"No 'buts'," I snapped. "The eleventh commandment – 'Thou shall not 'but' thou's hairdresser'."

Fang covered his mouth with his hand and made an unattractive snorting sound, mixed with laughter.

I rolled my eyes and said, "Okay, just put on some lip gloss and you're ready to go."

Nudge had a very pretty, hear-shaped face that didn't really need hair to accent it, which was a good a thing. The beanie went good with her skin color, too.

"Lip gloss?" Fang asked, sobering up. "She's, like, eleven!"

"So?" Nudge asked. "Angelina Breaux is a year younger than me and she already wears Victoria's Secret underwear!"

Both Fang and I rolled our eyes at this one. "Yeah, and I'm Hilary Clinton," shim said. "No makeup – understand?"

"But Faaaang!" Nudge whined, slapping her hands down on the bathroom counter. "Everyone else is-"

"If everyone else jumped off a cliff would you?" he snapped.

Nudge got a look on her face that screamed 'duh'. "Um, hello? Wings?"

Fang did a face palm as I sniggered. "Bad example," I said behind my hand, and shim glared at me.

Just then, Mom's voice interrupted. "Nudge, Ella, Fang! You've got five seconds to get your butts down here or we're leaving without you!"

As Nudge left the bathroom, Fang yelled back, "Fine with me!"

I rolled my eyes, grabbed his wrist, and dragged him out of the bathroom, almost kicking and screaming.

* * *

><p>Max<p>

Mr. Curt has the most boring voice in the history of ever. It didn't help that we were reading a Shakespeare plays, but still. B-O-R-I-N-G.

The only reason he was even reading at all is because we students 'weren't reading with enough passion to portray the true emotions and meaning of the selection'. Whatever.

Three kids had already fallen asleep, and I was on the brink of it when a paper plane made from college- rule loose leaf paper landed on my desk. I glanced as Mr. Curt, who was still reading right along at his about-to- kill-my-self pace, and unfolded the paper plane.

Scrawled in maroon letters, in what looked like a brutal half breed of cursive and print, was: _Hey, cutie. ;)_

Lord.

I felt myself blush, and then I looked around at all the girls in the room. There were not many. There was one with pink hair who was dead to the world, another with an eyebrow stud and tattoo who was paying rapt attention, another who looked like she just stepped out of a magazine, and one who was staring at me and winking.

She would probably be pretty if she didn't wear so much friggin' makeup. It looked like she was locked in a makeup factory without a mirror and just went nuts. So maybe that was an over exaggeration, but it was still too much. She had raccoon eyes, black eye shadow, and pale foundation. Her lips were painted maraschino cherry red and she was snacking very obviously on pink bubblegum. Her hair was straight and black. I think I could smell her perfume, even though I was across the room. It smelt like cinnamon.

So I, being the smooth person I am, wrote back: _Hey._

I refolded the airplane, glanced up at the oblivious Mr. Curt, and threw the airplane back at her. She caught it with a black-and-green fingernail polished hand, opened it, and smirked, one very similar to

Fangs – technically, now mine. She wrote something with her maroon gel pen, and threw the airplane back at me.

The rest of the class went like this:

_My name's Charlette. _

_Fang. _

_Shut UP! That is not your name! _

_No, I lied. It's Georgia. *sarcasm* _

_I don't believe it. Let me guess, it's something really lame. _

_My name IS Fang. _

_And I'm Marilyn Monroe. _

_*eye roll* Whatever, don't believe me. _

_Don't worry, I won't. This class is SOOOO boring. . . _

_Ugh totally. _

_So . . . what class do you have next? _

And then the bell ran, and everyone almost killed each other to be the first out of the door.

Fang

Elizabeth and I were on our way to seventh period when we passed my

Max, in my body. I hate to sound narcissistic or conceited, but damn. I really don't know how she resists me.

"Hey, gorgeous," she said when we passed each other, winking.

"'Sup, sexy?" I replied, slapping her/my butt when she passed.

Elizabeth and I walked for about four seconds before I realized she was sending me a look.

"What?" I asked.

"Are you two dating?" she whispered, so low I could barely hear her over the ruckus in the hall way.

"Why are you whispering?" I whispered back.

Elizabeth grabbed my wrist and dragged me across the hall, to the bathroom. She shoved me to the door and I was smart enough to realize 'open the door.'

I opened it and she slipped in behind me, and went to the stalls. She opened every one of them until coming to one that was locked. She smirked and banged on the stall door. "Get out of there, gossip whore!"

I watched as a girl with platinum-blond hair, wearing black wedges and a black dress, walked out of the stall, her head held high and a notebook in her hand. I stepped aside so she could exit the bathroom.

She did, and Elizabeth locked the door with her finger wrapped in her jacket's sleeve.

She turned to me and asked, "Are you and that guy dating?"

"Why did you just kick that girl out of the bathroom?" I countered.

"This school is a breeding ground for People magazine," she said, hands on her hips. "Don't change the subject. You two dating?"

I rolled my eyes. "No. We just have a mutual agreement that I'm gorgeous and he's a sexy beast."

She snorted. "You little liar. You two totally had some chemistry.

"If you mean the class, then yes."

She rolled her eyes, but she was smiling. "Whatever. We're going to be late for class."

**Whatcha think? Tell me in a review! And I would like to thank everyone for their reviews last chapter. **

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